


provenance

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Beginnings, Endings, Female Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Mentions of Unspecified Terminal Illness, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Terminal Illnesses, not death fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mon Mothma meets Leia for the first and last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	provenance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



> [written as a treat for the Every Woman 2016 exchange]

“Senator, it’s so good to see you,” Bail says, pleasure evident in his voice and manners, the latter exquisite as always, as he strides forward to embrace her. She’d told him he hadn’t needed to meet her at the spaceport, that she could just as easily find her way on her own, but he’d insisted. Stubbornly kind as always, that’s Bail.

And the child by his side—oh. Hair a dark tangle across her forehead, victim to the high winds approaching from the south, she is every bit the image of her mother. Of Pa—

She cannot even think of her friend’s name without the heat of fury turning her cheeks red and prickling impotently behind her eyes. But this child, Bail’s exquisite child… She hadn’t believed him at first when he’d told her the truth. Him of all people, the most trustworthy person she knows. That’s how unbelievable it had been. She’d _mourned_ this child, thinking she’d died with Padmé, knowing Padmé had been pregnant despite no one daring to say the word.

And now here she is, having caught the first transport that would carry her here from Chandrila, meeting her.

“Hello,” the girl— _Leia, her name is Leia,_ Mothma reminds herself—says, shy, her eyes more focused on her feet than her surroundings. She grabs at Bail’s robes and holds tight to them, mussing the nap of the fabric beneath her fingers. Her cheeks are as pink and chubby as her tiny hands. Her dress is pristine white, thick to shield her from the coolness of the air.

She’s beautiful.

“You were telling the truth?” she says, feeling the absurd need to confirm it with Bail, who nods. Then, smiling, so happy and sad she could burst with it, Mothma looks down at Leia again. “Hello, darling.”

Leia smiles, too, just a little bit, and turns her face toward Mothma, eyes wide. “You’re very pretty,” Leia says, her enunciation already sharp and clear, “Like mama.”

Mothma chokes back a laugh and tears both, lifting her hand to cover her mouth as pain and wonder wash over her. “That’s kind of you to say,” she replies as she crouches down, holding out her hand for Leia to take. The gravel in the back of her throat tears the sound of her voice to shreds. “It’s an honor to meet you, Princess.”

Serious in the way of small children everywhere, Leia nods. Her eyebrows furrow as she concentrates; a frown pinches at her lips. Her attention drifts to Bail, questioning, and he nods, encouraging in return. He mouths words that she then repeats with confidence. “The honor is mine, Senator Mothma.” She tips her chin up, decisively pleased with her performance.

Bail’s mouth quirks upward, proud, and he catches Leia’s hand in the gentle curve of his palm, says a few words about how she’s been practicing and that perhaps they should get moving before the winds pick up any more. Leia peeks up at Mothma one last time before she turns to lead all three of them back toward Bail’s private transport somewhere across the spaceport’s central terminal.

Mothma realizes only with that last look that Leia has Padmé’s eyes and Breha’s poise and will, quite probably, be a hellion to her father and mother and the galaxy at large in years to come.

 _Good,_ she thinks.

She cannot wait to see it.

*

“I came as soon as I heard,” Leia says, storming into Mothma’s office, Mothma’s assistant trailing after her, bemused, a scowl on her face as she tries—and fails—to cow Leia. Mightier people than Sivah have done the same.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” she says, feigning fearlessness, as Leia whirls on her. “If you would just—”

“Don’t ma’am me,” Leia snaps.

Mothma sighs, waving her assistant off. It will lead nowhere, this fight, and Leia may very well prefer to have it than get down to the business that brought her here. “It’s all right, Sivah,” she says, her voice a mere rasp, devoid of much of the warmth it had conveyed throughout her youth and years as a Rebellion leader, as a Chancellor. She gentles the sound with a smile and a peaceful wave of her hand. Sivah, as expected, backs down and backs toward the door, wary, eyes on Leia the whole time, Leia who has turned away from Sivah altogether, her goal accomplished.

Amusement flares in Mothma’s heart, quickly smothered to keep from inordinately encouraging Leia’s least charming traits. She always has been a little dismissive.

“So,” Mothma says, deciding it best to undercut whatever tirade Leia has prepared. She’s heard it so many times before. _Why didn’t you tell me_ and _have you tried the medicinal pools of Theza_ and _you’re so strong, you’ll beat this_ and every sentiment in between. If she could have hidden the severity of her illness from the galaxy altogether, she would have. It would be easier than these confrontations. “You’ve heard, I presume.”

“Of course I did!” Leia replies, fire flickering in her words as she drops into the chair across from Mothma’s desk. Hurt, she clarifies. “From Admiral Statura.”

Mothma had long ago rid herself of the impulse to roll her eyes, but occasionally…

Still, it doesn’t matter how or where he heard it. If not from him, Leia would have heard it from another source. Or worse. She could have caught it as a salacious bit of news from the HoloNet. And under those circumstances, Mothma would have to die to cease hearing the end of it.

 _Well,_ she thinks, grim humored, _that is one thing I can do_. “You risk too much coming here,” Mothma says. The bite of her censure doesn’t faze Leia. With the First Order still out there, waiting for its chance. No, Leia should not have come. “At a time like this.”

“If it’s true…” Leia says, as though it could possibly be anything but. “I couldn’t _not_ see you. And I have no idea when else I’d get the chance.”

“You are so much like your mother was,” Mothma says. “She always did what she felt was right, too.” _And look where it got her,_ Mothma doesn’t say. Can’t say. Refuses on pain of death to say. Another thing less difficult these days than she’d have liked. “No matter the cost.”

“Which one?” Leia replies, deadpan. Mothma had so missed Leia’s sense of humor. It borders on the macabre on occasion and the defeatist, but it’s as authentic as the rest of her. It’s one of the few things she hasn’t shared with most of her peers and subordinates, nor even many of her superiors back in the day. No, this is something she shares with only those closest to her. And Mothma could not be more grateful for that intimacy.

A smile pulls at the corner of Mothma’s mouth. “That is a fair point.” Breha, too, had been strong and principled. That Leia should have lost both she and Padmé… it remains one of the great injustices Mothma has witnessed in her lifetime. The galaxy is deprived without their wisdom and their honor. And Mothma fears, no matter how strongly they—and Leia—have influenced her, have shown her the best path forward, it hasn’t not enough.

None of this has been enough.

They are right back where they started. And Mothma can do nothing to stop it. The First Order is the First Order is the Empire is the corrupt politicians who facilitated the scourge of democracy across thousands of systems in the first place. She can do nothing else for the fight. It is Leia’s wholly. Mothma can think of no one better suited and yet regret’s claws pierce her as readily as the illness spreading unchecked throughout her body.

There is so much more yet to accomplish.

And all Mothma can do is stand aside, place her trust in Leia the way she once trusted Padmé, the way she’d trusted Breha. She suspects her faith is not misplaced. Leia will win the day and, with luck, won’t face the same problem they faced the first time around. They all know better now. And they will not make the same mistakes. Leia won’t, at least.

She feels very much as though she’s leaving the galaxy in good hands. And Leia deserves to know this, all of it. There is so much left undone. But this is one thing she could always have rectified had she the courage. And since Leia is here…

“I am glad you came,” Mothma says. She has time yet in these old bones. And now the chance for all the things she never had the time to share before. The feelings she’d never put to words because there’d always been more important words, ideas, orders to impart. Foolish in the end. What good had all her orders done? Her ideas imploded the moment she’d left office. Her words have mostly been forgotten. What she has to say now will remain obscure, too, private. Important to only one person. Somehow she doesn’t mind that fact in this case.

Mothma has always found it easiest to start at the beginnings of things, so the words are easy enough to find. Perhaps the easiest it’s ever been.

When she speaks, she asks, “Have I ever told you about the day we first met?”


End file.
